The Chromatic Scale
by PaperxTrain
Summary: She was a strange girl, quiet and melancholy and not really military material at all. Graham was her commander and he will honor that, but they were incompatible. Too different in the things they've seen and the world they saw. GrahamXoc, and mild NeilXoc.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings:** Violence and language, and implied sex.

**Disclaimers:** I own nobody that shows up in Gundam 00 canon, only the OCs, major and minor, that show up.

* * *

><p>The Chromatic Scale<p>

Chapter 1

The first hour was slow, and by the time it passed, the voice of the good Colonel was a dim drone in the peripheral of his conscious. His Flag engine was kind of like that, loud, but not as distracting as enemy mobile suits trying to shoot him stone dead. It wasn't enemy suits in his line of sight though, just a conference table and a colonel J.S. Thompson talking about—something. He wasn't quite sure what.

Graham frowned.

The second hour came and went, and it was getting to be like a bad office dream, how he couldn't quite remember the beginning anymore and how he certainly didn't know when it was going to end. To stay awake, he drank his coffee, which had gone cold, which he hated, but the air-conditioner was on, in mid-November, so like the rest of the entire situation he didn't have much of a choice.

Halfway through the third hour, he was contemplating standing up and calling it quits, which he was irritated enough for, but not so stupid, so instead he hunched his shoulders aggressively and glared at the table. A blue, insignia marked folder stared back at him, and the hour passed quietly.

The boardroom was cold and stagnant and brightly lit, too large for a grand meeting of three people. Billy sat next to him, note-taking and concentrated, as he was prone to be. Graham briefly wondered how he did it, but it was Billy, and sometimes that was all he needed to know.

It was three meetings in one, the last few having been canceled from the Taribian incident, all the senior officers scrambled to direct military aid to the country and update their information on the Gundams. Not any of Graham's lowly responsibility, but it had come back to bite him in the ass anyway. His spine was not made to sit this long.

In any case, he needed something to keep himself from capsizing, so he picked up the blue folder in front of him and flipped it open.

There was a photo of a young woman paper-clipped to the front pocket, and she looked every bit what a soldier wasn't; pale skin, slender shoulders, a delicate face. Her hair was paper white, a bit feathery, and her eyes were pastel blue—the faded washed out kind, like a shirt whose dye didn't hold out so well against detergent.

The colonel had mentioned her in passing in the beginning, "a very unique transfer pilot", he had said, not very complimenting in the implications of his tone, and it showed. Graham tried imagined her standing next to Howard and Daryl, both broad chested and tall, and—he couldn't do it.

They were walking out of the room half an hour later when Billy said, carefully, "So, er—apparently it takes half the Taribian army being destroyed for us to be given one pilot."

Graham grumbled, "I'm pretty sure that's the worst exchange rate in existence."

"Cheers to that." Billy grimaced. "Anyway, I'm willing to bet you stopped listening halfway through everything."

"You know me too well, Katagiri." Graham replied dryly. "Though speaking of betting, you owe me from that last round of cards."

"I'll email you some of my notes tonight."

"Cheapskate."

"I do try." Billy said with a grand sweep of his arm, and Graham rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "You know, I used to think I was done being copied off of after high school."

"It's clearly a wretched fate you'll never escape from."

"And with friends like you who needs a life?" Billy groaned. "Why do I still do anything for you?"

Graham snorted. "Don't even kid yourself. You live in fear of the day I get myself killed. No one else in this place who'd lower his life expectancy testing your tech upgrades."

"Ah, well," Billy heaved a sigh. "Touche."

They stopped in front of the tech lab Billy shared with Professor Eifman. "I need to catch up on some work." Billy said, unlocking the door with a swipe of his I.D. "The testing schedule for the new rotation shield prototype was moved up a week. We still have to calculate the alloy ratio component, certified torture as far as the chemistry's concerned."

"I'll pay my respects if you don't make it." Graham smiled, hiking a thumb up. "By the way, I'm going downtown for dinner later. Jonathan from tactics forecasting said he wanted to discuss some new formation. You want anything?"

Billy shook his head. "No thanks, I'll just get some food from the mess hall."

Graham shrugged. "Your stomach, not mine." The food they served in the canteens was nutritious, but he couldn't exactly call it gourmet eats. He nodded as Billy disappeared into the lab, before sweeping a glance across the near empty hallway.

It was a rare slow-paced Friday afternoon, most people out for a break in the city or a late nap in their quarters. Not the sort of thing he cared for, mostly because he was Graham Aker but also because he had priorities, so he tucked his folder under his arm and glanced at his watch—three hours to spare—before he turned and left for the hangers.

* * *

><p>"Ruho Watase, is it?"<p>

She paused, let the unfamiliar name run through her mind once, twice, and tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Yes sir."

In front of her, separated by the expanse of a large oak desk, Homer Katagiri studied her with slighted skepticism threading in his brows. She was fairly certain she knew why. She was very thin, and only looked thinner because her uniform was a size too large and sagged on her shoulders like a drape. Not very healthy either, from what she's been told. Too many chemicals running through her bloodstream. As Katagiri's frown deepened, she briefly wondered if she was going to be kicked out. Then he took out a folder, placing it on the desk, and the moment passed.

"Your formal orders."

Ruho stepped forward, "Thank you sir," and tucked it carefully under her arm.

With a curt nod, Katagiri folded his hands together and leaned into the back of his chair. He was a humorless man of impressive physical stature, and many of his simpler movements he performed with the stiff, deliberate intensity of an executioner. Which he was in a way, given his rank and the responsibilities that came with it. He didn't intimidate Ruho, who tended not to be intimidated by anything, but others felt the weight of his presence very much. "I trust you've already received the details of your transfer."

"Yes, sir." Base of destination, Washington D.C. Time of departure, Sunday, 9:00 a.m. JST. "It was sent to me two days ago by email." Objective not yet specified, but given the current state of the world, fairly obvious.

"And your commanding officer is?"

"Lieutenant Graham Aker, sir."

The lines of his forehead wrinkled. "Aker?"

"Yes." Ruho said, and when Katagiri didn't speak, "Is there something wrong, sir?"

He remained silent for a moment before rotating to face the large window behind him. The glass was tinted to shield the day's sunlight, but the panels offered a clear, encompassing view of the Union airbase of Kadena, Okinawa, the largest Union naval and airbase outside the United States. As a major general, Katagiri presided over the base as the highest ranking officer, and Ruho had never met the man in person, despite being stationed here for many, many years.

Finally, Katagiri spoke, his gaze tracing a formation of Realdos that streaked through the sky. "I didn't expect you to be assigned to that unit this early in. The doctor must place a great deal of trust in you."

"Doctor Russell had no input in my squadron assignment, sir. It was a request from the officer who had been in charge of the Taribian operation."

"Taribia?" Katagiri veered back sharply. "Colonel Thompson, you say?"

"I believe so, sir." Ruho said.

Katagiri fell silent again, contemplative. Finally, "It seems that there is much to recommend to you."

"Thank you, sir."

He reached over and pressed a button. A large holo-screen materialized in front of him. "Your personal Flag is being tuned as we speak." He said. "It will be ready by the time you arrive in the states. As requested, adjustments have been made to accommodate your," he paused, "peculiar combat style."

"Yes, I have received the notifications, sir."

"Your commander is a remarkable pilot." Katagiri added. "And my nephew Billy is also a part of the unit as a technical engineer. You may ask either of them for assistance should you need it."

"Yes, sir."

He nodded, before waving a hand. "That will be all, Miss Watase."

Ruho lowered her head respectfully. "Thank you for your time, sir."

He was watching her as she left, she could tell, because they all did—curious and wondering what about her was worth so much. They didn't know what went into her, not the money and not the experiments and not the research and not the _metal. _

* * *

><p>Graham remembered too late that Jonathan from tactical forecasting was a heavy drinker. After a mediocre dinner, he helped the inebriated man throw up in the restroom, drove him back to base, and handed him over to his grateful wife, who gave Graham a cake and a basket of cookies in return.<p>

"I appreciate it, Ma'am." He said, and he really did, expect he didn't eat sweets. But the wife was beaming so expectantly, he didn't have the heart to refuse.

By the time he made it back to his own place, it was past eleven. A little late, but it was Friday, and his shirt smelled like Jonathan's three shots of whiskey and two of tequila, so he ducked into the bathroom to shower and shave. After that was housework, which he disliked, but the dust was gathering and the laundry was piling like a trainwreck and like hell he was going to die from sanitation problems in the 24th century.

By the time he was done, it had been roughly an hour and he still wasn't tired. The triple shot latte with his dinner had been a bad idea.

In the end, Graham climbed into bed with his laptop. Working on a Friday night was pathetic, but it was past twelve, and working on a Saturday morning was professionalism at its finest. True to his words, Billy had sent him a rough outline of his notes for the meeting, twelve pages in size 8 font. It was horrifying.

He read it anyway. A good portion of it was on Celestial Being, updates on their abilities and possible countermeasures, though the details of that would be left up to the tacticians. Most of the information he had found out first-handed, his stomach still tender from the fight, but he read carefully, in the off chance that there was something that will help him the next time they met.

It was captivating, Celestial Being. The confrontations stung—he wasn't used to being outclassed—but the thrill of the fight made up for that. And in any case, he wasn't particularly interested in the morals concerning their insane crusades. The Gundam pilots were soldiers, _fellow _soldiers, in a sense. Graham wasn't interested in being a hypocrite either.

The information on the transfer pilot was crammed into a paragraph on the second-to-last page, not very informative. Neither was the folder from the meeting, no mission log or skill stats, and her name labeled TO BE ANNOUNCED, the letters blocky and stamped in red.

The picture was still there, the corner peeking from the pocket, and as Graham pulled it out this time he noticed the faint shadows under her eyes, not very dark and not very hostile, but just a little tired. She looked tired.

Exhaling slowly, Graham slumped against his bedpost. He raised the picture to eye level. "Now what am I going to do with you..."

* * *

><p>"Most of your equipment should have reached your new place by the time you arrive. Your medicine supply will be replenished every two months. Email me or Sarah if you need an early refill for whatever reason. Make sure to send it on a secure channel. Encrypted, if you can."<p>

"Yes sir."

Ruho sat properly on a metal examination table, wearing a white hospital gown. Thick transparent tubes protruded from the skin of her neck, channeling a clear fluid from the bag hooked onto the IV pole next to her.

Dr. Russell paced frantically in front of her, looking very close to having a nervous breakdown. Ruho suspected that he'd been living off of coffee and cigarettes again, but it wasn't her business so she didn't mind it.

Doctor Almac Russell was a lanky man with cropped straw hair and dark eyes framed by thick, crooked glasses. On his better days, he was a respected member of the science community, multiple awards and international distinction under his belt. On his worse, both his appearance and behavior bore a remarkable similarity to that of a drug addict, without his drugs.

"Sorry, am I acting weird again?" He said, abruptly stopping in his tracks.

"Somewhat, sir."

"I _am, _aren't I? But who cares." He swiped a thick, laminated booklet off a desk and handed it to her. "I sent you an e-copy on your email, but hard copies are good to have handy." He said as Ruho obligingly flipped through the pages. "The book contains everything you need to handle your own treatments. Diagram, charts, step-by-step, all there."

"Thank you—"

"By the way," He rubbed his prickled chin thoughtfully. "Which name did they give you? It's not that Russian one, is it? Or the Hungarian one."

"It's Ruho Watase, sir." She answered politely.

Russell grimaced. "Convincing." Then, furiously, "Who the hell comes up with these? You're not even, you don't even _look _Asian." Ruho didn't answer, and he threw his hands up in resignation. "Anyway, we informed the doctors over there about you. Not like they can do much in the event that you screw up, but if we're lucky maybe one of them will be skilled enough to save you from death in case you need it."

"I see."

He glared at his laptop screen, which held a short, official email. "Gotta love these last minute orders, yeah? Assholes thinking we can just pack you in a FedEx box and pay overnight fees to get you there on time. What the hell's in their morning prescriptions?"

"I wouldn't know, sir."

"Well, can't afford to lose faith in humanity just yet."

"Sir—" Ruho said.

"Or is it too late for that? Because for me, I'm telling you, son of a—" He drifted off, mumbling incoherently.

"Sir," She repeated, and he looked up. "I need to go pack my belongings. May I be excused?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, yeah, sure." Russell gestured dismissively as he dug a half-burnt cigarette from one of his pockets. "One more thing."  
>He turned to Ruho, who faced him obediently. "Don't let anyone know about you." He said. "It'll make things complicated."<p>

"I understand, sir."

"Yeah, sure, like always. Now skedaddle."

Ruho bowed before sliding out of the room, her IV pole wheeling beside her.

Outside, she bumped into Sarah Kobayashi, Russell's lab assistant. "Good afternoon, Ma'am."

Sarah flashed a glossy lipped smile. "Hello sweetheart." She glanced at the IV pole in Ruho's grip. "Have you finished your other treatments today?"

"Yes I have."

"That's great! I came here to update your dialysis equipment, so I'm glad to know you're done with it." She said cheerfully. "And I need to finalize some things with Dr. Russell, so I'm afraid I can't chat right now. I'll make sure to give you a big sendoff on Sunday in return, okay?"

"Thank you, Ma'am."

She smiled again before she disappeared into Russell's office.

For a moment, Ruho stared at the closed door, very heedful of the words being spoken behind them ("She's really not ready." "Well the brasses piss their pant, nothing I can do about it." "But still—"). She reached up and adjusted her slipping IV bag before hobbling down the sterile hallway.

It was something of an ever-working factory within her body. Similar to a human's, except mostly metal, and underneath her skin laid a perfectly condensed labyrinth of tangled wires and spinning gears, thousands of electricity paths and unbreakable alloyed joints.

Ruho Watase had been a half-robot for a very long time.

A cyborg, properly speaking. It wasn't the sort of thing she mentioned in company, and while people found her behavior a little mechanical, they're never quite sharp, or perhaps whimsical enough to come to the right conclusion. She didn't meet people often anyway, only the ones who already knew, so it was never an issue.

Standing in the middle of the room, she neatly packed her few personal belongings—two sets of military uniform, some spare clothes, and a laptop, which she barely used because she had a computer system installed in her internal structure, international Wi-Fi included. A small cardboard box was enough to hold them all, as well as some of her medical equipment once she was through with them.

In the evening, 7:30 JST, the news started reporting another Gundam intervention; a rescue mission located at the HRL's Pillar of Heaven orbital elevator. With her IV bag running dry, Ruho started unhooking the tubes from her neck as she listened to the commentators.

"—this intervention is markedly different from their previous activities,"

"And what do you think of such an action?"

"Well, some believe it to be a publicity stunt to win popular support—"

"—though considering their past disregard for public opinion, I consider that unlikely. Conversely, the HRL is drawing criticism—"

"—despite their actions, groups have risen in support of Celestial Being. According to recent polls, the current trend is—"

The report quickly devolved into a motley debate of ethics, which Ruho never cared for, but listened to anyway because useless information was still information.

The broadcast finished within the hour, nothing else worth storing into her databank. Turning off the screen, Ruho stood up and began dismantling the IV equipment, fitting them into the box along with supplementary fluid bags and bottles of medicine. When she was done, she sealed the flaps with duct tape and wrote her new address on it in black ink marker. The rest would be shipped separately. They were impossible to get through airport security. She placed her passport and her identification card on top, where she wouldn't misplace them.

It was still early by the time she finished. With nothing else to do, she idly sat down against the wall, legs folded and back straight, and she waited.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _And rewrite version four, because I am psychotic. _

This story is canon compliant, but Union-centric, and follows the anime through their perspective. Even though Gundam 00 is a political/mecha anime, this fanfiction slightly leans towards some bizarre military slice of life genre, at least in season 1.

Ruho Watase is a cyborg, similar to Litchy from the Ptolemios crew, except militarized and uh, not very pleasant. Hopefully she'll grow out of that, but at the moment she's your standard polite robot girl who doesn't get angry easily, but will probably kill you anyway. And you know, Graham's pretty much a mechaphile in all but name (a very honorable one, which is going to grate with her), so it'll probably work.

And this story is a GrahamXoc, but there is a bit of NeilXoc later. There's not going to be a love triangle, and it's more of a close friendship with Neil than real romance. But I figured it'd be nice to write about some characters besides the Union pilots, since you need some variety in life. I like the meisters as much as the next person.

Anyway, notes will usually be at the end of a chapter. Graham isn't exactly the most popular character in the fandom, but I hope people will read and enjoy (and critique/review? Because uh, I'm not subtle).


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The airport was crowded with winter break and the families making the best of it. It was all laughter and giggles for them, and Billy Katagiri passed the time envying them from afar, securely depressed by the knowledge of a world of research deadlines waiting like a death sentence for him back at base. He didn't even have the time to be here, but Graham—who had initially volunteered to come—was currently unavailable for utterly ridiculous reasons, and Billy didn't have the heart to leave the new girl waiting at the airport, laden with baggage and, god forbid, jetlag.

It was the hour long drive from base that made the job all that worse, and when he arrived he spent another half hour scavenging for a parking spot, and then waiting in the airport, mostly standing and straining to see over the crowd's heads, but later catching a seat on a bench and being miserable there.

However, he was looking forward to meet her. She came on the written consent of his uncle, and despite all appearances, he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Finally, Billy caught a flash of a military uniform, and then white hair among a knot of people streaming through the gate. He craned his neck as he stood up, trying to keep his eyes on the uniform. She was doing a remarkable job of sliding through the crowd, walking straight through a group of children and stepping over someone's spilled luggage without breaking pace.

"Excuse me!" Billy called. "Miss, uh—"

She was only carrying one small suitcase, which made her step much faster than it should be. Billy quickened his pace, apologizing hastily as he pushed past people with more force than what was polite. After making her way out of the worst of the crowd, she stopped in front of the airport exit, head tilted and facing the revolving doors as if uncertain where to continue.

Exhaling in relief, Billy slowed down as the distance between them finally closed. "Excuse me." He said again, and this time she turned to face him.

"May I help you?"

"I'm Billy Katagiri, from MSWAD." He held out a hand. "I came here to pick you up."

"Oh," She said. "Thank you." She took his hand, shaking it gently, and as their palms pressed together, Billy felt a chill run through his skin. Even through the rough linen of her glove, her hand was cold. "Are you Homer Katagiri's nephew?"

"Yes, the Major General is my uncle." Billy said, smiling. "He's helped me quite a lot, especially when I first joined the military."

"Helped you?"

"Well, you know," Billy hesitated, "the usual kind of things you hear." It was something he was a bit unwilling to admit. Family connections were looked down upon in the military just as it was in the rest of the world. But Billy was readily assured of his own merits in the technology department, and it was because of that that he could accept his uncle's help with a clear conscience. "I haven't been able to see him much recently, what with this whole Gundam mess going on. But we do contact occasionally."

"I see." She said.

Noticing the small roller suitcase she was pulling, Billy leaned over. "Here, let me carry this for you."

"That isn't necessary, sir."

"No I insist. You must be tired." He carefully pried the handle from her grasp, only to stumble as the unexpected weight of the suitcase dragged him downward. W_hat did she put in this thing? _

"Perhaps I should—" She began.

"I'm fine." Billy said quickly, a little flustered as he straightened himself. "Is that all you have with you?"

"The rest of my belongings were shipped separately, sir." She said. "I believe they have already arrived at the base."

"Oh, well that's makes things easier then." He checked his phone for the time. "It's a long drive from here back to base. We should get going."

Billy's car was parked in the underground lot, a good distance from where they were standing. She didn't speak as they walked, and it wasn't until they were standing in a loud and packed elevator when she said, quietly, her gaze focused on nothing in particular, "My name is Ruho, sir."

Billy looked at her, surprised, and then wondering how he could've forgotten to ask. "And your family name?"

"Watase." She replied. "Ruho Watase."

"Ruho Watase." Billy repeated. His Japanese was a little shoddy from growing up in the States, but he had enough college courses under his belt to know that her first name probably wasn't Japanese. And her appearance—something European, Nordic perhaps. "It's a very unique name. Did you grow up in Japan?"

"I spent the recent years there, sir."

"I go there every summer to visit my relatives." Billy said. "It's a lovely country."

Ruho didn't answer.

By the time they reached the car, the lack of conversation had become tenuous. Billy wasn't as bad with women as the glasses and lab coat suggested, but Ruho was looking to be a rather melancholy girl, her face distant and vacant as they walked, and he was never good with those.

The drive back to base was quiet, aside from the radio that Billy had turned on to ward away the silence.

* * *

><p>Upon arriving at the MSWAD HQ, the engineer had suggested that she settle down first. He was worn out from dragging her suitcase, but refused to let her have it, too faithful to social decorum, perhaps.<p>

"If it's at all possible, sir," Ruho said. "I would like to meet Lieutenant Aker first."

"Graham?" He said questioningly. "Do you have any urgent business with him?"

"No, sir. I would just like to—" She paused, searching. "I would see what sort of person he is."

"Well if you're up for it." He gestured to the fields. "A new test course was released today." He explained as they made their way to the hangers. "Knowing Graham, he'll still be over there, doing god-knows-what horrors to himself."

There were no Flags being piloted on the fields. Billy talked with one of the maintenance crew members, and found that the lieutenant had left for the lockers a few minutes ago. He hadn't been looking very healthy when he left, the man said, and if they didn't find him in the lockers, then they would probably have some luck with the sick bay.

"You'll have to get used to that about him, I'm afraid." Billy told her, apologetic.

"It's fine, sir."

Visiting the sick bay proved to be unnecessary. When they arrived at the men's lockers, there was a light haired man lying face-flat and motionless on a bench. He was dressed in a piloting suit, which was wrinkled and unzipped as if he had fallen asleep while in the middle of attempting to take it off.

Billy buried his face in his palm. "That," He said despairingly, "would be your new commander."

"Lieutenant Aker, you mean?"

"Unless he's dead. I wouldn't be too surprised."

Ruho walked over and took his pulse. "He's still alive, sir."

Billy followed her, stopping in front of the bench before he reached out a hand, tentatively shaking the man's shoulder. It earned him a small grunt, and First Lieutenant Graham Aker shifted weakly before falling limp again, an arm dangling precariously over the edge. Rolling his eyes, Billy leaned over shoved him right off the bench.

He crumpled on the floor, a muffled groan and _that was my spine, asshole,_ before he rolled onto his back and exhaled, slow and painful. "Was that—strictly necessary?"

Billy loomed over the fallen lieutenant, his expression dark. "I don't think I want to know the answer to this," He began sourly, "but just how long were you on the training course today?"

"I wouldn't know. Started around eight, you do the math." Graham muttered, blinking slowly before covering his eyes with his arm. "I mean, I showed up sooner, but they wouldn't let me in."

"And you didn't take a break?" Billy said, more a statement than a question.

"No." He said.

"You're _psychotic_."

"In my defense, it was a very well-built test course. My self-preservation was enchanted away from me by its intricacy."

"You never had self-preservation to start with." Billy snapped. "Eight hours, Graham. Eight hours. How are you even alive?" He grabbed him by the shoulders and began hauling him to his feet. Graham hung languidly in his grasp, looking too exhausted to spare any effort himself. "And you smell so bad, I don't even—"

"Well it's not exactly perfume I'm soaked in." Graham grumbled.

"You're disgusting." Billy said, nose wrinkling. "And will you stand up yourself? I'm not going to carry you."

"I can't." Graham pointed at his legs, which were tangled messily with the suit that he had failed to remove.

Billy opened his mouth, for another fine piece of outrage no doubt, but stopped as he felt Graham being pulled away from his grasp. He looked to his left and found Ruho standing next to him, carefully looping Graham's arm around her neck as he slouched in her hold.

"I can handle it, sir." Ruho said, waving away Billy's attempts to help as she lowered Graham onto the bench, placing a firm hand on his shoulder before he could fall over again. "You shouldn't strain yourself, sir."

"Thanks." Sweeping a hand through his unkempt hair, Graham glanced up at her, and his eyebrows furrowed in recognition. "Aren't you—?"

"I'm Ruho Watase, sir." said Ruho.

Graham stared at her, before turning to Billy, bewildered. "How did she get here?"

"I picked her up." Billy said irately. "It's four, Graham. You were supposed to go to the airport two hours ago."

"_Two hours? _Son of a—well—_shit._" Graham reeled to his feet, suddenly very energetic, but eyes wide and horrified as he stared at Billy. "Really, I mean, sorry Katagiri, I didn't—I'll make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it." Billy said. "It happens."

"But—"

"It happens." He repeated, stern. Graham hesitated for a moment, before slowly sitting back down. "Anyway, I'm heading back to the lab."

"Already?"

"We never know when Celestial Being will strike, so I need to make progress as fast as possible." He turned to Ruho with a well-mannered smile. "It'll be a pleasure working with you, Miss Watase. But for now I'll leave you to sort things out with this unseemly character."

"Hey—"

"If you'll excuse me."

When Billy left, Ruho noticed that Graham was fumbling with the uniform tangled around his legs. "Do you need help, sir?"

He refused graciously, but continued tugging at the white fabric. No visible result. "I pride myself, on being, self-sufficient, after all." He said, teeth gritted, and Ruho waited patiently as he pulled at the uniform to the point of tear.

After a few minutes of effort, Graham finally untangled the knots, straightening it until it was halfway decent before he stood up. He was of average height, not much taller than her, and a lean, wiry build. His face could very well be called friendly handsome—green eyes and short blonde curls and skin that seemed naturally light but tanned and flushed from exercise. "Sorry you had to see all that." He said sheepishly. "I'm guessing you don't have the best impression of me right now."

"I don't have an impression of you at all, sir," said Ruho.

"Nothing?"

"No, sir."

"Well then, I can be thankful for that." Graham chuckled. He scrubbed at his face, damp with sweat, as he backed over to a nearby locker. "So you said your name's Ruho?"

"Yes sir."

"I didn't get much information when I first heard about you." Graham said, opening the locker and pulling out a towel. He turned towards her, mouth curving into a slight frown as he pressed the towel to his neck. "Now that I think about it, you'll have a problem changing here, won't you? There's a woman's locker room of course, but it's located pretty far away from the Flags' hanger. You'll have a hard time dressing quickly. Those Gundams come and go like lightning."

"I don't want to be too much trouble sir. I'll be fine using the men's room."

Graham smiled. "That's quite generous of you, but I'm not cruel enough to let you do that. I'll see if I can get an adjacent room for you set up."

Ruho observed him, bemused. "You really don't have to go through so much trouble, sir."

"No seriously, you can't expect sharing a changing room with men and _not _getting stared at."

"I don't have any issues with decency, sir, but you wouldn't want to see my body anyway." She said politely, because more than one person had thrown up at the sight of her—perhaps not under the same circumstances, the skin over her stomach having not been well grafted at the time, but it wasn't very pleasant all the same.

But Graham smiled, gentle. "Don't be too hard on yourself. I'm sure you're beautiful."

"Thank you, sir." Ruho said. "But it's still best if you don't see it. For your own sake."

"Alright, I mean, if you're insisting." Graham yielded, reluctant. "So, that means separate changing room, right?"

"No, that's—" Ruho paused, confused. "Um—"

"Got you there." He grinned. Then, before Ruho could protest, "Anyway, as I was saying, I wasn't given a lot of info. All I know is that you were originally stationed in Okinawa and that you're some kind of a "special" pilot, and that you're taller than I expected. I didn't have your measurements to work with, so I haven't ordered your spacesuit yet."

"I already have one, sir."

He shook his head. "The ones our unit uses are a bit different from the one you used." He explained. "The Custom Flag that Professor Leif Eifman modified offered less protection from g-forces. For the pilots' safety, the spacesuits we use contain alterations. They're heavier, and they don't make up for all the lost safety. But if you use your old set, you'll be knocked out in one minute flat."

It was a sensible precaution, true, but death by over-acceleration wasn't a particular problem for her—her body was part metal, there were things that came with that—so she nodded at the explanation and didn't answer.

Graham checked his wrist, only to find that he wasn't wearing his watch. "Do you have the time?"

"It's half past four, sir."

He looked at her strangely. "You didn't even look at a clock."

"I have one built in, sir."

"Built in." Graham repeated, and Ruho nodded again. "Okay, sure? I'm going to go take a shower." He gestured to her suitcase, which Billy had left near the door. "You can find your assigned quarters, right?"

"Yes sir."

"So you can just settle in for now. I'll meet you at the dining hall at five and show you around base."

"You needn't go through the trouble, Lieutenant. I already downloaded the map."

"It's better to see things in person." Graham said with a shrug. "And I need to talk to you. There are arrangements I have to make, so I have a few questions." He clapped her cheerfully on the back, and if that hurt him—her spine had reinforced metal—he didn't show it. "Howard and Daryl aren't here right now, but I'll go find Katagiri. It'll be team-bonding. Afterwards we can raid a bar or something. On me."

"I'm sorry sir, but I don't drink."

"Then you can get apple juice." He said. "I'm sure you can get drunk on apple juice too."

Ruho was perplexed. "I'm sorry, but that's impossible, sir."

"Ruho, Flag Fighters are assigned to achieve the impossible. You should get some practice while it won't kill you."

"But sir, if it's achievable, then it wouldn't be impossible anymore."

"That's going into semantics," Graham said wryly, "which ruins the point."

"I apologize, sir."

"Don't apologize so much." He said. "You're a Flag Fighter from now on. Make sure you take pride in that."

* * *

><p>Ruho Watase was looking to be an odd girl, not in a bad way, but it was still her piloting that Graham was interested in. He gave her a few days before requesting a mock fight—she seemed like she needed some rest, so much shadow under her eyes—and when he did, she showed up looking marginally better than she had the first time. Not by much, but she seemed less tired, and Graham decided he wouldn't feel <em>too<em> guilty shooting at her.

He had suited up by the time she shuffled into the locker room, a large brown package tucked under her arm. "Hello, Lieutenant Aker."

"Is that your flight suit?" He asked, tugging his helmet out of his cluttered locker.

"Yes, sir." She said. "It arrived this morning." She set the package down on a bench and unceremoniously ripped through the duct tape and the thick cardboard before Graham could offer to do it himself._ That's—tough. _

"I hope it fits." He commented off-handedly. Ruho pulled out the helmet curiously, tapping the tinted visor as if prodding for defects. "I'll be outside, alright?"

She nodded, "Yes sir," so he stepped outside and leaned against the wall, absentmindedly playing toss-catch with his helmet until she walked out a few minutes later, properly dressed. The suit was a good enough fit, still loose at the shoulders, but resistant enough.

"Do you have any particular specialty in mobile suit combat?" He asked as they headed towards the hangers. "Melee-combat or long-range, maybe?"

"I would like to think I'm well-trained in all areas, sir." Ruho said.

Graham smiled, amused. "That's confident of you to say. I'm looking forward to getting killed by you."

"Sir, I'd be court martialed for that."

"I didn't mean literally—" He hesitated, before asking carefully, "You're one of those humorless types, aren't you?"

"It's simpler for me that way, sir."

"Huh." He said, leaning back. "I never knew they existed in real life."

"I apologize for destroying one of your life-held beliefs, sir." She said courteously.

Graham groaned. "Now you're just screwing with me."

She looked sort of lost after that.

The large hanger they entered was the textbook picture of industrial life, noisy from the sounds of various machines and the mechanics directing them.

To his surprise, Ruho's Flag was set up similarly to his—stripped of almost all defense, only the barest armor covering the essential joints. It was a sorry skeleton of a machine that remained, unstable and liable to crumble at the lightest impact from a properly advanced weapon. And Celestial Being most certainly had properly advanced weapons.

Nevertheless it was a thing of beauty, and if handled well, bound to pack vicious power for all its lost defense. "I'm impressed." He said, craning his head to scan the suit at its fullest. "You're the first person I've met who'd even consider stepping into something like this."

"And yourself, sir?" She asked, mild, her voice almost lost in the noise.

"Well, I'm not exactly—" He drifted off, then shrugged, a little defeated. "Okay, fair enough. But it's good to have some company under the crazy label anyway. That said, you sure you're up for this?"

Ruho tilted her head, "Yes sir", unperturbed and already tucking her hair together before she slid her helmet over her head and secured the clasps to the collar. Graham walked over to one of the maintenance crew, and managed to get a clearance for one of the training grounds. They parted ways as they entered their respective mobile suits. The thin electronic ladder was waiting for Graham when he reached his Flag. Grabbing firmly onto one of the rungs, Graham adjusted his communications speaker, "Priority, Graham Aker" and the ladder whirled to life, carrying him the long 42 meters up to the cockpit. "Connect me to channel seven."

There was a crackle of static, then, "Lieutenant Aker." Her voice greeted through his receiver.

"Are your preparations complete?"

"I'm running a final scan for output stability, sir. It should be ready in two minutes."

"Understood. Notify me when it's complete." Graham dropped into the cockpit, and the entrance hissed shut over him as the controls shimmered to life. He pulled up a diagram of his Flag's status, fuselage fully charged, conditions all green. Despite its lowered defense, the Flag's power and speed had been amplified magnificently. Billy and Professor Eifman had outdone themselves in tuning this mobile suit, and Graham intended to make use of every advantage he had.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"You're in a hurry, Billy."

Billy slid to an abrupt halt, noticing far too late that he had run past Professor Eifman without even a spare glance. "Oh, my apologies, Professor."

"Is there something wrong?"

"No, not at all." Billy backtracked to match paces with Eifman. "Graham should be testing out that new girl—Ruho Watase, I think her name was, and I'm pretty curious about her skill level. You know, considering her—you've seen what she looks like, right?"

"Appearance doesn't determine skill or talent." Eifman said, before sighing. "That's what I would like to say, at least, but granted, piloting does require a certain physical stature to withstand the strain. You've seen her Flag, have you not?"

"The designs, yes." Billy said, recalling the rough sketches that he had been given the day before. There was still enough of the g-acceleration coating remaining to prevent sure death, but the fortitude it took to fly that thing was beyond anything he could imagine. It would _hurt. _

They walked silently for a moment, before Billy asked, hesitantly, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about her, would you?"

Eifman smiled mildly. "And what makes you think I would, Billy?"

"You work with many of the military's best pilots." Billy said. "And names tend to go around. I mean, last time I was at Okinawa, they were still talking about Joshua Edwards pounding their local ace to the ground eight months ago."

The professor didn't answer immediately. "I've never heard of the name Ruho Watase before." He said, finally. "But if she's from Japan, then perhaps you'd do better to ask Homer about it."

Billy blinked, startled. Despite the first name basis, Eifman held nothing but disdain for his uncle, thought the man relied too much on brute force to achieve his goals, no consideration for the wreckage he left behind. Billy understood the sentiment, more or less, but Homer Katagiri was well-intentioned, if one were to look past his more dubious actions as a commander. Then again, Billy supposed, the military was all about action over intention.

"As far as I can tell, he doesn't know much either." Billy admitted. "It's partially why I'm going. He wanted me to take a look and report back to him."

Eifman's eyebrows rose at this. "Well, there is nothing better than first hand data." He said. "Perhaps it's best if I came to observe this mysterious pilot myself as well."

* * *

><p>Fragile and obedient on the outside, but give the girl a machine and she was a nightmare.<p>

It was five rounds from her linear rifle coming at Graham, deadly accurate—how the hell, she was flying _upside down_—and jerking his controls, he swerved his Flag down and left. Four of the shots missed but the fifth grazed the joint of his damaged leg, the impact almost throwing him out of his seat.

Graham shot forward and swung his blade. The very tip caught her Flag in the shoulder, but to his disbelief she lurched forward, his blade pushing straight through, and shoved her defense rode against his head. The blades began spinning rapidly, and his visor cracked and shattered with its force.

His right optical screen dissolved into static, _visual channel three and six down, backup channel eight unable to activate, _and wrenching his blade out of her crumbling shoulder, Graham pulled back, warnings and damage reports going off like sirens around him.

It had been an impressive move, but her rod was dented and jagged, not much of a defense anymore.

Again, Graham veered as Ruho began aimed her rifle at him again. She really was an excellent shot, and knew very well where to aim. If he were half a second slower, she could shoot his head clean off.

His eyes shot to the diagram of his Flag's status. Damaged in two joint areas, though not fatally; visor all but destroyed, thankfully it wasn't important; linear rifle disabled; sonic blade and defense rod still functioning; all limbs still intact, which is more than what he could say for Ruho, who was missing her right arm and a small portion of her leg. Dear god, Billy was going to kill them.

"Shall we stop here?" He said even as Ruho was lifting her rifle again.

Ruho immediately pulled back at his words. "Yes, sir."

When they landed and were out of their cockpit, Billy came storming over to them. "You do realize that this was a mock battle, right?" He demanded, surveying their damaged Flags with something akin to horror. "It was only a seven minute long match. How on earth did you manage to fit in so much damage?"

"Well actually," Graham began, only to back away as Billy shot him something of a spectacled death glare. "Sorry." When the engineer left to start repairs, Graham faced Ruho, who had been standing beside him silently. "I completely misjudged. You're an amazing pilot."

"Thank you, sir."

The match itself had only lasted a short while, but from what he did see her skills were solid and well rounded; fast reaction time, fluid mobility, and especially excellent marksmanship, although her short range melee skills weren't all that bad either. Her style was more of straightforward attacking, which was a dangerous fight, but she was good at it. Her defense was a strong offense, and she executed it well.

Graham winced at the ache in his abdomen—he had stressed his body too much in that fight, which was completely worth it, but it didn't mean he enjoyed the aftermath.

"Are you alright, sir?" Ruho hurried to steady him.

Moping sweat off his forehead, he offered her a smiled. "Yeah. Thanks. You?"

She hadn't shown any signs of pain at all since leaving her cockpit. Ruho shook her head. "I have good endurance." Was all she said of the matter.

Releasing a shaky breath, Graham sat down on a nearby bench. Ruho briefly left and came back with a cup of water. "You have a tendency of forcing your body into very straining circumstances, sir." She slipped the cup into his hand. "It's not very good for you."

Graham laughed, and soon regretted it as another flash of pain shot through his ribs. "That's the first time someone worded it so eloquently." He said. "You have no idea, the crap I got in cadet training. My first instructor predicted that I'd die on the battlefield before I turned nineteen. Funny thing is, I was already twenty."

Ruho nodded. She stood in front of him idly as Graham finished his water.

After recovering marginally, Graham set the empty cup down. "What time is it?"

"A quarter past two, sir." She answered automatically, again without consulting a watch.

"A little late." He shrugged, pushing himself onto his feet. "Do you want to go out for lunch? I could show you around the city."

"I don't eat, sir."

Regardless, he pushed her towards the hanger exit. "They say food tastes better with company." He said wisely, ignoring her confusion. "You would not deprive me of such joys in life, would you?"

"I am not sure I understand, sir." Ruho said. "The taste and texture of a dish would not be impacted by the presence of companionship—"

"You know what, I give up." Graham lamented. "You're coming with me. Double time, soldier."

* * *

><p>The day was bright enough that they sat outside at a small café that Graham had been meaning to try on recommendations, and while the sandwiches were only passable at best, the drinks were stellar. He was on his third espresso, his food half-finished, when he noticed that Ruho hadn't touched her plate.<p>

"You're not on a diet, are you?" He asked, eyeing her warily as he crumpled his soiled napkin.

"No, sir."

"I don't think I have to tell you this, but you should take care of yourself."

"Of course, sir."

Exhaling, Graham signaled the waitress for a refill. "Do you like coffee?"

She didn't. He bought her an iced coffee anyway, because the sun was high and glaring and at least she could press it against her forehead if she was feeling warm. Graham wasn't much for cold coffee, but he could certainly see the value of it on a warm day.

They lounged on a bench outside the café, with Graham sipping his drink and Ruho staring at hers as if it were an interesting carnival show. She herself was interesting to watch, really, if only because she took the smallest things much too seriously. Graham briefly considered asking what she was thinking, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. So he continued watching her and she continued watching the coffee, and the situation was getting to be odd, but he kind of enjoyed it, and if anything, she had a pretty face.

"I'm sorry for not finishing this, sir." She gingerly raised her cup. Most of the ice inside had melted. "Even though you bought it for me."

"Maybe I should've gotten you a smoothie?"

"I can't drink that either, sir."

"Then tea, maybe? Juice? Margarita?" He asked, because when in doubt, well, alcohol. But Ruho shook her head again, and Graham's taken women out for drinks before, but he couldn't rightly recall it being _this_ difficult. "Then for future references, what _do _you like?"

She thought for a moment, before offering tentatively. "Water, sir?"

"That's a cheap shot."

"I'm sorry, sir."

Graham leaned in, eyes locked with hers and voice serious. "I hope you realize that I'm not treating you out to anything unless I know what I'm supposed to be buying. You're putting yourself in a dangerous position. Think of the consequences." And Ruho, because she was Ruho, actually _tried to think_, and it was then that Graham realized he was fighting a lost battle. "Is there somewhere else you'd like to go? I'm in no hurry to go back."

"I'm fine, thank you sir," but it was still early, so they spent some time walking through the nearby streets. Graham pointed out a few places of good use, a shopping mall on 3rd Avenue and a supermarket on Baker Street and a theater and—to indulge himself—an aviation museum side by side on Elkinson Street. The only place that Ruho showed the barest interest in was the aviation museum, where she stared confusedly at the World War Two era fights jets guarding the entrance with imperial pride.

"It makes you feel glad to be born in this century, doesn't it?" He commented, glancing at the archaic machines—the wings were shoddy and flimsy, and the engines seemed almost designed to shatter from the lightest impact. "I'd like to see a mid-air transformation in that."

"I don't think those machines can transform to begin with, sir."

"That's," Graham grimaced, "tragic."

Ruho opened her mouth to reply, but she didn't speak, and as Graham began to turn away he caught the faintest glimpse of her eyes, the blue of her iris almost flashing and something whirling, white and circular around the edge of her pupil, and then she was shoving him to the ground and it was an explosion and screams and the air shrouded in smoke.

"Lieutenant, are you alright?"

Ruho was already standing, covered with dust and a little cut up. She was fumbling with something over her shoulder, and with a small squelching sound, she extracted a fragment of glass from her shoulder, the tip stained red and dripping. Graham stared at her numbly, and it wasn't until something soft was pressed over his nose and mouth when he realized that she was crouching next to him, the fabric over her shoulder slowly soaking in blood as she held a white handkerchief to his face. "You shouldn't breathe in this air, sir." She said simply.

Slowly, Graham turned to the source of the smoke. Only half a block away and he could see it, a large cracked crater in the middle of the street, littered with debris and wreckage and bodies upon mangled bodies.

"There's a trashcan nearby if you want to vomit, sir," Ruho said, her voice oddly mechanical in the chaos. But it brought him back to his senses, and sucking in a shaky breath, he stood up, only to stumble. The world was spiraling violently, and Ruho grabbed his arm before forcing him to sit back down. She crouched down next to him and lifted a hand, lightly touching his head. He flinched as a jolt of pain shot through his skull. "It appears you're suffering from a mild concussion, sir."

His eyes hurt—everything seemed to bright and blurry. He grappled blindly at his head, only to feel something warm soaking through his glove. He withdrew his hand confusedly—there was a bit of blood blotching the tip of his thumb.

"I'm sorry, sir," Ruho said, pulling out another handkerchief and pressing it to his head. "I must have used too much force knocking you to the ground." And yet another handkerchief, this time for scrape on his cheek—she seemed to have an endless supply of the white cloths.

"A terrorist bombing—?" He said, slowly, hollowly. Sirens were erupting in the distance.

"Chicago and Tokyo were hit as well." She said. "Also, Shanghai in China and Bath in England, and various other major cities."

"An international terrorist network." Graham said, pulling the handkerchief from his mouth, "Hold still," and tying it carefully over her injured shoulder.

"Oh, thank you sir." Ruho said, as if just remembering the wound.

Disgust twisted in his chest, but he forced the unnecessary feeling down. It would probably be a useless effort, none of those bodies were moving, but there might be survivors.

He staggered up, ignoring the nausea that washed through his chest. "Ruho, come with me."

"Lieutenant—?" Was all she managed to say before Graham grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards the explosion site. He didn't know how much help Ruho could be, but she was strong, he knew that much.

The closer they got to the scene, the more bodies there were; the more destruction, the more hellish it became. They forced themselves through the gathering spectators, and Graham hurried to join the few people helping the wounded.

"That child is already dead, sir." Ruho said as Graham knelt down next to one of the injured, a young boy. He hadn't even taken a pulse yet, but when he did, he found that Ruho was right.

Her interest in the boy spent, Ruho directed her attention to the damaged street. "Sir, we should leave."

"No." With one last pained gaze, Graham set the boy down on the ground. "There are still people injured here."

"There is nothing you can do, Lieutenant." She said.

He was a soldier, he wanted to say, but_—_what use was sentiment in this situation? His honor and pride did nothing for the dead. Slowly, he stood back up. The ambulances arrived, and the area was soon flooded with paramedics.

"Sir?"

Graham watched medics cover the boy with a white cloth. Suddenly he was tired, breathing in this smoke, standing in this nightmarish destruction. There wasn't an inch on his body that didn't hurt anymore. "You're right. We should head back to base." He pulled off his red-stained gloves before wiping the dust and sweat off his forehead. "There's nothing we can do here."

In the car, she switched the radio to the news while Graham drove. Just as she said, it wasn't only D.C. that had been attacked. Terrorist bombings had been reported throughout the world, from Tokyo to Shanghai to London. A claim of responsibility was also released by the terrorist group.

_Until the cessation of armed interventions and the complete disarmament of the private military organization Celestial Being come into effect, our retaliatory actions will continue. What we do is not evil. We are the voice of the people, and apostles of justice rising up against those who would oppress the world with military fo—_

Graham slammed a hand hard on the OFF switch. "Ruho?"

"Yes sir?"

"I know you don't speak much, but it's better if we don't talk for a while."

"Certainly, sir."

There was a pause, before he said "Sorry."

She stared at him quizzically, but did not speak. It was ridiculous, but within minutes Graham began finding the silence overbearing. He turned the radio back on. The news had moved on from the terrorist announcement, and was now detailing the location of the D.C. attack.

—_located on 34th West Avenue. Due to the lack of surveillance cameras in the area, authorities are experiencing difficulties pinpointing possible culprits._

When they reached the base, Ruho immediately excused herself and departed for her quarters. Despite his exhaustion, Graham went to his Flag hanger, where he was accosted by a frantic Billy.

"I heard happened on the news." The engineer was a cross between relieved and utterly furious. "Thank god you're alright, but why didn't you answer my calls?"

Graham pulled out his phone and found that there were indeed 15 missed calls listed on the screen. He turned guiltily to his friend. "I apologize, Katagiri. I was kind of, preoccupied." He gestured to his dust covered uniform, not wanting to elaborate.

Eyes softening at his state, Billy let out a slow exhale that he seemed to have been holding back for hours. "It is fine now. And how's Ruho Watase? You two were together, right?"

"She went to the sick bay." Graham said. "Also, Katagiri, can my Flag launch at the moment?"

Despite Billy's protests, Graham insisted on flying. He couldn't possibly do anything about the current situation, but despite his tired body he could not stay idle while the knowledge of the terrorists boiled the blood flowing through his veins. Howard and Daryl were in the lockers, and expressed similar relief at his safety.

"Are you going out now, sir?" Daryl asked in surprise. Outside, the skies were already painted a pink and orange from the sunset.

He pulled out his flight suit, willfully turning away from their concern. "I am an impatient and irrational man. At times even I cannot restrain my selfish impulses."

The two had just come back from a practice flight, probably just as tired as himself, if not more so. But without so much as an explanation, they saluted him. "We will accompany you, Lieutenant."

Graham smiled, the bitterness in his chest slowly wavering as they quickly made to readjust their flight suits. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>Fifteen dead and over forty injured, and still more casualties to be expected after the rubble had been cleared.<p>

Snapping the thread, Ruho set down the bloodied needle as she surveyed the sealed gash marring her shoulder blade. She wasn't particularly good with stitches, but she preferred avoiding the hospital if possible.

The blood had stopped flowing, so she wiped the wound with a swab of antiseptic-soaked cotton ball, ignoring the stinging of raw flesh, and wrapped a long bandage over it before carefully sliding on a clean shirt. Wiping off the table and tools, she placed everything back into the medical kit before shoving it into one of the cabinets. Her jacket was torn and bloodied, so she folded it and stored it in the closet for washing later before pulling out a spare for the next day.

The news was still talking about the terrorism, two more cities bombed—Morocco and Dubai—the worldwide body count almost hitting five hundred, all in the name of destroying Celestial Being.

There was only one conclusion that could ever come out of this. Ruho sat down and patiently waited.

* * *

><p>The terrorist network was taken care of within days, a quick and lethal sweep by Celestial Being.<p>

A monument for the victims was raised at the site of the bombing, according to Graham, still bitter and angry about the whole thing. Ruho wasn't quite interested enough to see it herself. It was a nice gesture, she supposed, but not very useful. The dead were dead and life moved on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note:** If there are any old readers (which I doubt since my update time is so bad) I strongly suggest you reread the beginning. The first three chapters are completely revised, with new characters that are mentioned in this chapter.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

And her day ended, determined Ruho, at three in the afternoon, with her everyday exercises completed, paperwork finished, and nothing else to disturb the monotony of what others would call personal time. She saw it more as a period of inactivity—there was very little personal about her—where she sat in different places and waited.

Today, she took residence on a bench outside the common dining hall, and a few minutes passed idly before a pair of footsteps stop in front of her. Ruho looked up.

"It's rare to see you outside." said Graham Aker, smiling over a heavy blue scarf draped around his neck. He was holding a steaming cup, coffee, she assumed, and a manila folder tucked under his arm.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Aker."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all, sir." Ruho said, shifting to make room.

Uttering a quick thanks, Graham sat down next to her. "I have a report due tomorrow." He grimaced. Setting his coffee aside, he laid his folder on his lap and flipped the cover open, revealing several pages covered with handwriting that bordered on illegible. "I've been at it since six in the morning, so I thought some cold air _might _keep me awake long enough to finish this. Wake me up if it doesn't though."

"If you would like, sir."

"I think I've become immune to caffeine." He raised his drink up to eye-level (there were shadows under his eyes, she noticed), wistfully sloshing the dark liquid back and forth in its container. "This is a triple shot latte. It used to keep me up for at least a few more hours. Now I can get, what, half an hour tops. The barista wouldn't give me four shots." He added, disgruntled.

"I'm very sorry, sir."

"No you're not."

Ruho considered it for a second, and agreed. "No, I'm afraid I'm not."

Graham rolled his eyes, "You turn this honesty thing into an art," and pulled a pen out of his pocket.

The next hour was spent in thin silence, punctured occasionally by footsteps of passing personal and the whistle drone of mobile suits that streaked the sky in arrow-shaped formations.

It was mid-February, the air still cold from the winter but crisp and brittle-clear from the hints of spring that was coming within the month. The week after the next would mark the end of her fourth month in MSWAD. Celestial Being had conducted almost seventy raids, small-scaled, and most of them either in other power blocks or too far for this unit to reach anyway. She had yet to meet them in battle.

They've reached a period of rest though, for whatever reason, and this week was the first to pass without the news headlines broadcasting yet another country's military that laid in ruins.

A soft pressure on her shoulder caused Ruho to break from her distractions. She turned to her side and found Graham's head tipped against her shoulder, his eyes closed and his breath not quite even enough to be asleep, but close.

"Lieutenant?" Ruho lifted her hand, letting it hover uncertainly for a moment before settling gently on his arm. "Sir?"

He mumbled, barely intelligible, "Ten minutes."

"Sir, I don't think you should—"

But Graham was already asleep. His report laid unfinished on his lap, but after a moment, Ruho set the timer anyway.

* * *

><p>The first thing Billy said when he saw Graham enter the room was "Did you lose a fight?"<p>

Graham scowled, gingerly brushing his fingers against the half-formed bruise that outlined his cheekbone. "No, but thank you for the vote of confidence."

Billy held up his hands defensively. "I was just assuming—"

"I do not lose fights, Katagiri." Graham said irately. "I did however, fall asleep on something hard."

Stepping into the room behind him, Ruho frowned and tentatively pressed a hand against her shoulder.

Billy raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting.

"So you called me for something a minute ago, right?" Graham yawned, tossing his work carelessly onto one of the tables. "I gave eleven hours of my life to that report. I deserve a trophy."

Billy glowered. That man did not understand the importance of paperwork. "Our long range satellites picked up unusual readings in the space area controlled by the HRL. We've just finished decoding the signal transmissions. There's a copy on the counter."

Graham pointed questioningly to a large folder, and opened it, pulling out the many sheets of paper tucked inside. "Communication probes?"

"Enough even for us to track from our distance." Billy confirmed. "Their lack of subtlety is atrocious, but the basics of their plans are well thought out. I assume they're trying to take advantage of the Gundam's ability to cause communication blackouts and pinpoint their command center."

"Well subtlety wasn't the HRL's style, last time I checked." Graham shrugged. "Unless you still buy into that Russian spy stereotype from the 1980s." He pityingly handed the data to Ruho, who had been peeking at it over his shoulder.

Billy watched her with some curiosity, rather surprised by her presence now that he had a moment to notice it. She was reclusive, only ever showing up for debriefings and squadron training sessions, where she would follow order and protocol like it was her life on the line before slipping away again. Her interactions were minimal, not speak unless spoken to, and while she was proper about it, she wasn't very good at hiding her disregard for all matters conversational.

Billy didn't know what to make of her. But as Graham distracted himself with his phone, the silence that ensued between almost strangers turned from bearable to awkward to painful, excruciatingly painful when Graham left the room to make a call.

The seconds ticked by, the rustle of turning paper and shifting clothes fabric as Billy shuffled for some distraction. No such luck.

"So how have you been, Miss Watase?" He finally asked.

Ruho's eyes didn't leave the report. "Fine, sir. And you?"

"Not bad. Work's been easier since Celestial Being's seems to be on hiatus, but I guess it's going to change depending on the HRL's activities."

This time she looked up. "You shouldn't overwork yourself, sir." She said, and the papers obscuring her face lowered to reveal a hint of a frown. "I'm sure this squad's performance would suffer without you."

"Oh, um, yes. Of course." Billy said, very inelegant. "Thanks, I mean."

Ruho nodded politely and returned to the data.

Graham stepped back inside a few minutes later. "Professor Eifman wants to meet us in a few. Probably about the HRL thing, considering how screwed we'd be if they succeed."

"Sure." Billy said. "Just give me a second. I want to take my bag with me."

Ruho set down the folder. "If my presence is no longer required, sir, I would like to take my leave."

It didn't come as unexpected for any of them, so Graham nodded and said "see you later then," and Billy only nodded before Ruho bowed and left the room.

"You don't like her?"

Billy glanced at Graham, who was peering at him knowingly. "I'd rather you not put it that way." He said, because he wasn't wrong, but he wasn't especially right either. "She's a very nice person."

"You just never know what to say to her."

"Well, yes." Billy frowned. "She's not exactly easy to talk to, if you haven't noticed. Frankly, I'm surprised you get along with her as well as you do." But then again, he thought, social propriety was one of Graham's lesser concerns in life. He could carry himself beautifully when the situation called for it, but beyond that, it was all bad table manners and off-colored jokes. "I hope you're not bothering the poor girl."

"I'm trying to kidnap her and sacrifice her to the volcano gods." Graham shrugged, so nonchalant about it that Billy broke into a chuckle.

"Somehow I wouldn't be surprised if you are."

"You're overthinking things." Graham said dismissively. "But hey, you're our techie extraordinaire. It's what we love you for. Now move your ass. Professor Eifman's waiting."

* * *

><p>After sixteen hours of preparation and battle, the HRL proved to be incapable. The Gundams escaped the area, leaving behind a wreckage of twenty-four Tierens and thousands of communication probes. It was unknown how close the forces were to capturing a Gundam, or if they had been close at all, but with this many resources destroyed, the HRL had crumbled under the weight of its own ambitions. They were no longer a threat.<p>

But it was pointless if Celestial Being didn't come. And they didn't, not to Union territory and not to any region where she could easily access. With the United States, Canada, Australia, and Japan relatively peaceful (if not socially disrupted), the only real source of conflict within the Union was Latin America, which Celestial Being paid attention to only sparingly. Before Ruho joined, she knew of Graham being able to attack one of the Gundams if they just so happened to be in the same air space, but with the Union's recent policy of only mobilizing if an member country was attacked, that slender chance was no longer available

Ruho's time limit was stretching thin. It wasn't deadlines that constricted her, but expectations. High expectations, from high people.

"Impatient assholes, you mean." spat Doctor Russell, his ragged face contorted in disgust on Ruho's monitor. "Maybe if they gave you a free pass to go on a rampage, we might get somewhere. But _no, _they're afraid of being exposed if they move too much. Yeah, kid, follow the rules that practically chain you down in a no-warzone and go catch some overpowered robots while you're at it. Why don't they go invest some cash in a high-functioning butterfly net instead? Sounds a lot easier than this shit."

"Can you wipe your spittle off your camera, sir?" Ruho asked. "It makes visibility difficult."

Russell glared, but did as she asked. "Whatever." He groused. "I doubt the military will take all this crap lying down forever. If Celestial Being doesn't come over, they'll eventually make an excuse to invade some other country with shit going down. The U.S. is good at that kind of stuff."

"Perhaps." Ruho replied simply. She was never very good with politics. They were too complex.

"Did you take your medicine, yet?"

"I will momentarily, sir."

He squirted at her from behind his thick glasses. "Well you don't look half-dead, which is a good sign, I guess. Sarah's been asking about you non-stop. She's out right now though. I'll tell her you said hi."

"Oh," Ruho said blankly. "Thank you, sir."

"Stop acting like you care, you twat." He sighed, but it was casual. "I'm hanging up now. Work and all that. Don't die, yeah?" And before she could answer, the connection was cut.

Ruho turned off the screen and pushed herself up from the floor. Opening one of the cabinets lining the wall, she started taking out pieces of equipment, metal components and plastic and liquid in clear transparent bags all laid neat and organized on the kitchen counter. With the touch of well-trained familiarity in each fragment, she connected the parts, hooking the IV bags onto the pole and the tubes to the needles, and after half an hour there were three tubes inserted into her skin, two on her right arm and the third, larger one latched on the vein under her collarbone.

The treatment took four hours to complete. Afterwards was another one, two hours, and then medication pills to be taken with a one hour interval between each other.

Trying not to move her injected arm too much, Ruho reached into another drawer and pulled out her standard issued handgun, a brush and cloth, and a vial of gun polish that she realized after uncapping was nearly empty. She would have to buy some more later.

Cleaning her gun was the closest thing she had to a hobby, though really it was just something to preoccupy her hands with during the treatments (the medicine made her skittish). Although she was being used for mobile suit combat, she wasn't made for it. She was better in ground combat, free from the limitations of restricted maneuver and lagging reaction-time synchronization.

Russell had always said it was a pity that modern warfare had all but obsoleted foot soldiers. Ruho was inclined to agree, but there was always a need for soldiers—any kind really—so it was fine. Of course it was fine.

* * *

><p>Two days later, news of the HRL's super soldier scandal was released<p>

The following public outrage was a field day for the media, and the Union and the AEU as well, all who circled the disrupted HRL like political vultures of a prey. It was hailed as the scandal of the century, a title that only amounted to humorous, because the current "century" was only eight years old at the moment, if they haven't forgotten.

Graham caught Ruho watching the reports the day it was announced, distant as ever, even though she _must _be paying attention if she didn't even notice him walk up to her.

"You seem to be pretty interested in this." He said.

She turned to him slightly. "I apologize for being distracted, sir."

"It doesn't matter. Training's done for today. Later." He called to Daryl, who passed by with a quick wave before leaving the locker room. "And you flew fine today. I'll only start the lectures if you crash something."

Ruho hesitated, but nodded her thanks before turning back to the TV screen.

Graham sat down and watched with her, having nowhere better to be and being a little intrigued himself. It was Celestial Being who had leaked the information, and on this platform they were indisputably on the moral high ground. For a change.

After speeches from the AEU leaders, and then a few unconvincing denials from HRL officials, the channel turned to President Brian's announcement, boldly declaring that the Union would never sink to such depths, "_such depravity as human experimentation, a cruelty that the Human Reform League not only tolerates, but shamelessly sanctions. Though we live in an age of suspicion and uneasy treaties, our soldiers are as human as any of us, and deserve the ultimate respect for choosing to—_

The screen disappeared with a loud _bang _and a _crack_. Startled, Graham found Ruho's fist curled against the TV's ON/OFF button. She continued watching the blank screen, frowning and eyes downcast and brows scrunched together. It was the closest thing to an expression he's seen on her, and she looked—she looked very hurt.

"Ruho?" He asked, quietly. She didn't respond, so he didn't continue. It wasn't his business really, what went on in his men's heads, and it was conceit to pretend otherwise, very easy to ruin a working relationship just by trying to play therapist. But the seconds passed and she was still quiet, so he gently rested a hand on her shoulder.

After a long moment, she shifted and blinked. The expression turned faint, fading, and then it was gone. She stared his hand before she looked up and said politely, "I'm sorry, sir. Did you want to finish that?"

Graham gave her shoulder a light squeeze, she felt cold, before drawing away. She had recomposed herself quickly. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration. "Hey, don't worry about it."

"No, sir, I shouldn't have turned it off so abruptly." She began reaching for the ON/OFF button again, only to stop midway.

Graham followed her gaze, and noticed that the hard plastic of the screen's border was severely cracked where she had punched it. _Impressive, _he thought, but instead said with a lopsided grin, "I think you'll have to pay for that."

"I—" Ruho stared at the damage. "Oh."

* * *

><p>The repairs took fifty dollars, which Ruho asked from Russell ("You idiot, skinny arms like yours aren't supposed to be breaking shit!"), along with some extra for another vial of gun polish.<p>

She located a weapons shop in the city, attracting a few glances when she walked inside. It was a large store for its trade, and Ruho had to check the aisle signs before she located the right section. Stepping past a man standing in front of the shelves, Ruho scanned the rows of bottles before pinpointing a particular brand on the top shelf. She began reaching for it, but even on her toes the tip of her fingers barely grazed the edge. Lowering in disappointment, Ruho was about to go look for something to stand on when another hand reached over and took one of the bottles.

"Is this what you wanted?"

Ruho turned to find the man generously holding the polish out for her. "Yes," She said. "Thank you."

"No problem." He smiled, and was about to hand it over to her when he noticed the brand logo on the bottle. "Oh so _that _was where it was."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, it was just I was looking for this brand for like, ten minutes." He handed the bottle to her before getting another of the same kind. "I don't usually go to this store, so you really kind of saved me there."

"I'm glad to be of assistance then." Ruho replied. She took a minute to examine the bottle for any defects, and when she looked up she found the man still watching her, eyes curious. "Is there something wrong?"

"I was in fact thinking of all the possible scenarios that would have a lovely lady such as yourself in a firearms store." He said as-a-matter-of-factly. "Something glamorous like foreign espionage and reconnaissance, I hope."

Ruho blinked. "I see."

The man was tall and handsome and had coffee-brown hair that tumbled stylish-messy to his shoulders. He also had clear blue-green eyes and a friendly smile that didn't falter when he reached out a gloved hand, which Ruho uncertainly shook, and said "I'm Ennis by the way. Ennis Hemsway."

A beat.

He was skilled, she noticed, smooth and casual with barely a pause, but even through the thin fabric of his glove she sensed the tiny skip in his pulse, and "I'm sorry," she paused. "Mr. Hemsway. But I don't believe you."

"Believe me?" He repeated, his eyebrows shooting up.

"That that's your real name." She clarified, before continuing. "My name is Ruho Watase. It's nice to meet—"

"Wait, hold a sec." said Ennis, who she was certain was not called Ennis. He seemed uncomfortably torn between the lines of bemusement and skepticism. "So, uh," He proceeded carefully. "You think I'm lying?"

"I implied it, yes." She said. "I apologized if I offended you, but the truth of the matter is that you gave me a fabricated name."

"And then you just go on to introduce yourself like there's nothing wrong."

"Yes I did. Is there something—?"

"And you're not, uh," He gestured aimlessly, "suspicious?"

Ruho frowned. "It is true that people with aliases tend to have hidden motives," She said slowly. "But as you have yet to act dangerously, I have no reason to pursue a line of inquiry. Unless you would like me to."

"No, no, not at all. As a matter of fact, I prefer your current reaction just fine." He said, head cocking in amusement. "Sharp but not intrusive. You don't see that excellent combination very often these days. But now I'd just feel bad using a name we both know isn't mine. You're called Ruho, right?"

"Yes."

"Well then," he smiled, roguish and charming. "My name's Lockon Stratos. It's a pleasure to meet you."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well it's been firmly established that I'm the worst updater in the history of updating. Or pretty up there at least. But I realized last week ago that it was Graham's birthday today, so I decided to cram all my revisions and update in to celebrate. I have, finally, planned out the entire story and hopefully things will go quicker now. _I will finish this story even if it kills me_, _I can never move on until then. _That said, it doesn't quite matter if nobody reviews or even reads it (I mean, it's still very discouraging, and I want to know if people enjoy it, or don't enjoy it, so still review please?) because it's totally my pet project and it's Graham, who's worth every bit of pain.

On the other hand, we have Billy being an awkward dork and Lockon Stratos making his grand debut. He's a very charming character, and I hope I did him justice.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Lockon Stratos was twenty-four years old, fresh from the isle of Ireland, and employed in something vaguely foreign affairs and negotiations. 'It's like volunteer work," he explained. "Except paid, kind of."

"Then it wouldn't be volunteer work, sir."

"Exactly." He winked, and Ruho was puzzled. "Top secret stuff, sorry, but if I ever get the okay to tell, you'll be the first person I call. That is, if—I had your phone number?"

"I see," Ruho said.

Lockon waited for a brief moment, before saying, a little awkward, "That was a hint, by the way. I was, uh, asking for your phone number."

She blinked at him slowly. "Oh, I see. I'm sorry." She reached into a pocket, fumbling for a scrap of paper, when Lockon said hurriedly, "Wait, you don't have to—" and he pressed his hand against hers and she looked up.

"I mean, later," He added, a little fumbled with his words, but still smiling. His eyes weren't completely green, she noticed, but mostly green, with a hint of blue that she would have to search for to see. It made them look softer. "We just met, after all. Got to convince you that I'm not evil. Or married. No wedding ring tucked my pocket or anything"

"Ah," Ruho said. "If you would like, sir."

He was what people would call a ladies' man, she supposed, with a sort of flirting unsubtle enough that even she could tell what it was—and unsubtle wasn't good, she remembered from what she had been told, it meant too much effort and too little experience, but Lockon was easy and casual and earnest all at once, and in a way, that was something charming by itself.

He took her to a nearby coffee shop and tucked her in a small corner booth before walking over to the line. The air was cold outside and the shop was crowded, so Ruho scrunched herself in her booth and checked her email—one from Graham about a mandatory meeting at four today, ("very important , don't skip") and another message from Howard Mason, asking if she had seen his spare glasses (she had, yesterday afternoon on a table in the cafeteria, before Sergeant Robert Parkson accidentally knocked them to the ground and Second Lieutenant Ariel Lin accidentally stepped on them with her size 9 standard issued military training boots).

Lockon came back five minutes later with a cup of coffee and a large mug of something brown and steaming and foamy. "Hot chocolate." He said, placing the mug down in front of her. "You look like you need some warming up," expect she didn't need warming up, so she said her thanks and stared at it as he sat down in the chair across from her.

"So Ruho," he said. "That's enough sordid details of my life. What do you do for a living?"

"I serve in the Union military," she told him. "As a pilot."

"Oh, wow." He tilted his head, his smile widening. "Hey, I can see that. Kicking ass and taking names. You'd look cute doing it too. Your commander's a lucky man. Or woman, I guess," he added as an afterthought. He shrugged. "Hey, I could handle being jealous of a woman, if it's for you."

"It's alright, sir. He's male."

"No, actually, I don't think that's consoling at all," Lockon frowned, propping his chin on his palm.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stratos."

He chuckled. "No, no, don't worry about it. And call me Lockon." he added, except first-name basis wasn't something she did, so she didn't.

He kept her for another half hour, talking. Or, Lockon talked, and Ruho listened and sometimes furrowed her eyebrows, confused because they always confused her, before nodding anyway. After the strangest story, something about misunderstandings, Lockon's phone buzzed in his pocket. He grimaced when he checked the caller I.D. "Gotta answer this, sorry," and stepped outside to take the call. He came back ten minutes later, embarrassed. "Sorry, some business came up. I have to go."

"It's perfectly fine." Ruho said, standing up.

"Also," He said quickly. "I know we just met, but I kind of enjoyed myself. Can I maybe call you out again sometime?"

"If you'd like."

"Well," He said reasonably. "I did ask," and then grinned like he'd like nothing more.

She gave him her number, and they stepped outside into the crowded sidewalk and the cold air. They walked the short distance to Lockon's car, where Lockon stopped and began rummaging for his keys. "You don't need a ride back, do you? I've still got some time."

"No thank you." Ruho said. "I take the bus."

He winced. "Hey now, being rejected by a lady in favor of public transport, that's a little—" He trailed off, resigned, and ran a hand through his hair. "I—could've lived without that."

"I apologize, Mr. Stratos."

But Lockon only laughed and unlocked and opened the car door. He was one foot in when he paused, and turned back slightly. "It's—peaceful here, isn't it?"

"Here—?" Ruho repeated. Confused, because there was this monument two blocks down south, and it wasn't something a peaceful place would have. Crime rates were high, and people were angry. But suddenly there was something wistful in his face, in the green-blue of his eyes and the curve of his mouth, and perhaps he saw something that she didn't in this distorted capital. So she nodded, obligingly, almost, and said "Yes, I suppose it is."

"It's a strange world," he said, gentle. "A little dangerous too, and you being the military and all. Be careful out there, alright?"

"Thank you," Ruho said. "You as well, Mr. Stratos."

Lockon smiled. He had this expression that she didn't know what to make of, something longing and distant and familiar, and long after he had left, Ruho was sitting in her bus and watching the scenery and letting it bother her a little. She saved his number. It seemed like the polite thing to do.

* * *

><p>"You alright there?"<p>

Graham didn't answer, and Billy watched him for a moment. He didn't ask again.

Exhaling slowly, Graham leaned back in his chair and pressed a hand to his mouth as he watched the video on his laptop screen. It was a news clip from last week, footage of an elegant, sharply dressed man and a young woman with dark hair and concentrated eyes, both surrounded by diplomats and the flash of cameras. The anchorwoman identified them as U.N. envoy Alejandro Corner and First Princess of Azadistan Marina Ismail.

Azadistan, the Kingdom of Azadistan, a Middle Eastern constitutional monarchy currently experiencing political and economic unrest. According to the reports, it was a violent and volatile country—the government itself was divided between the reformist and the conservative party. Their parliament was more of a battleground than anything, nothing even close to civilized.

Still, they maintained an uneasy status quo over the years, disturbed and dangerous, but ultimately not enough for _their _attention.

Then the Union offered a helping hand, "_The U.N. has approved of the measures. The Union is scheduled to begin sending engineers to help with Azadistan's solar energy development. Given the state of the country, 700 troops will be accompanying them," _and everything happened too fast.

Foreigners in their holy land, solar energy, and then the kidnapping of conservative leader Massoud Rachmadi—possibly not even by the reformists, intel said, but good luck convincing them of that, because the conservatives lost it. The country turned into a warzone overnight. The Union declared a congressional resolution to deploy even more troops to quell the violence. Up to 200 additional troops were scheduled to be sent to Azadistan within the next five days, stationed there for an indefinite time, but not to return until hostile forces have been subdued and the monarchy was restored to a balanced state.

Of course, they counted on—help, he could call it, from Celestial Being. That was why the Anti-Gundam unit, his own squad, was being deployed, to help with the fighting of course, but even more so, to fight the Gundams when they showed up, because they will, because they may be on the same side and they may be doing good, but it was their very existence that was unacceptable and nothing they do will change that.

The funny thing was the Union probably predicted all this. It was distasteful stuff. Not enough to make Graham's fists clench—he wasn't really that sentimental_—_but there were things the Union did that Graham did not like. The manipulating and the politics, and the fact that he answered to them.

Still, he was his country's soldier. So he finished his coffee, which tasted like Styrofoam, and read his orders, broke the contents down, searched up background information, and put together a Powerpoint, which he disliked, but it was useful for debriefings because he was the only one on the squad who paid to any attention to overseas news.

"Katagiri." He said when he was done. It was half past three. Billy looked up from his computer. "You have time for drinks tonight?"

Billy half-smiled at him, at the sudden request. "On a weekday, Graham?"

"Humor me." He replied.

Billy frowned, and glanced at his screen. He was probably swamped, so Graham was about to say forget it when Billy sighed and shrugged. "Yeah, sure. I have time."

Graham paused, and nodded. "Seven, then." He said, closing his laptop and shoving it into his bag. Then, after a moment, "Thanks."

"Of course." Billy said, and returned to his work.

* * *

><p>The meeting was nondescript, nothing Ruho didn't have already, and it ended in half an hour. She was standing up, finishing the last touches to her notes, when Billy called over to her. "Miss Watase, do you have a moment?"<p>

"Yes, sir. Do you need anything?"

"Professor Eifman wanted to see you." Billy said. "He didn't mention what for, but he should be up in the lab right now. The one near the hangers. You know where it is?"

"I do, sir. Thank you for informing me."

Billy smiled, a bit awkwardly, before he walked over to Graham, who had been waiting for him by the door. Graham gave her a tired nod, before they left the room.

Ruho made her way to the lab, which was almost across the building. The entrance was a small door tucked in the crevice of the wall, which she had passed at least twice before she found it. She wiped her I.D. card through the lock, which clicked green. The door slid open, a draft of cold air blowing in her face as she stepped inside. It was mostly dark inside, with some light coming from the computer screens. The air conditioner hummed steadily in the corner, turned down extra low to keep the machines from overheating. She scanned the room for Eifman, but it was clustered with assortments of tools and technologies, hard to get a proper view of anything more than five feet away without some complicated device blocking the way.

"Professor Eifman?" She called.

There was no answer. Ruho made her way through the lab until she found what looked like the professor's work desk. It was unoccupied, but his computer screen was on, a myriad of words and diagrams crammed in the open window. She leaned forward, unsure if she was allowed to read it, but a little curious nonetheless.

"_The fuselage is almost certainly powered by particle decay, due to their long operations time, which hints at the possibility of self-sufficient energy. _

_Particle decay, if condensed properly, can generate enough energy to fuel the Gundam's propulsion power. Given the reaction energy required, the subatomic particle must be a composite, and of sufficient mass. To condense and produce decayed particles quickly enough, topological defects are a viable solution. However, the conditions to replicate such effects are near impossible to find on Earth. They require a more gaseous environment, such as—"_

Ruho drew back, disappointed. It was his research on the Gundam's engine, she was fairly certain. Beyond that, she didn't know what to make of it, too many terminologies and jargons, but he shouldn't leave this sort of information unattended, so she logged it off and turned off the monitor. The desk was dirty, once she bothered to notice it, and that wasn't good, because Eifman was elderly. He wouldn't do well in an unsanitary environment. So she found a trash can out in the hallway and pulled it inside. She threw away the litter, empty Styrofoam cups and food wrappers and such, and she considered throwing away some papers too, but she didn't know which ones were important and which weren't, so she didn't touch those. There was thick dust buildup from where she moved the clutter, so she pulled out a handkerchief and wiped that away too.

The door opened four minutes later, and Ruho stood up from her seat as Eifman walked in, the _tap tap _of his walking cane accompanying his footsteps.

"Good afternoon, Professor Eifman," Ruho said.

"Miss Watase," He said, tired. "I'm terribly sorry for making you wait so long. I was called in for a last minute meeting. It was longer than I anticipated."

"It isn't a problem, sir."

"Yes, I—" His voice trailed off as he sat down at his desk.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" Ruho asked uncertainly.

Eifman looked at her, puzzled, and then at her, then at her gloved hands which were soiled from the dust. She'd have to get a new pair. Then he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Thank you."

"Not at all, sir."

Setting down his cane, Eifman sat down in his office chair and turned on his monitor again and began typing. The windows and tabs flickered as he sifted through them, searching for something in particular, she assumed. Ruho waited. She didn't know what he wanted with her, but she trusted that it was something worth noting, if it was enough to concern him.

They hadn't met often, but Ruho knew very well of Ralph Eifman's well-recognized status in the field of mobile suit technology. In person, he was a rational man with an elegant demeanor and a gravelly voice that seemed both rough and patient, which Ruho found a little calming. She didn't talk with him much, no more than the others, but he was the lead developer of the Flag, which she found to be much more maneuverable than the older models, and she was very grateful for that.

"Sit down, will you?" He gestured to a spare chair, so she pulled it over and sat down.

"Fine sir."

He nodded absentmindedly. "Have you become used to things around here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Your first mission is coming up," Eifman said. "Are you nervous?"

Nervous? Ruho turned the word around in her head for a bit. "I suppose, sir," she said, slowly. "It is a very important assignment, and I'd like to succeed, if possible."

Eifman turned to look at her, his gaze mild but even. "You're being modest, Miss Watase," he said. "I saw your first spar with Lieutenant Aker. You're an extremely talented pilot."

"Thank you, sir," Ruho said, hesitant, because it was a compliment, but somehow he didn't seem pleased by her answer. She wondered just where the conversation was heading, but it was probably impolite to ask, so she didn't.

He continued asking her these questions, small whimsical questions, everyday sort of questions. She was twenty-three years old, she trained in her spare time, and she didn't watch TV so she didn't have a favorite show. Hobbies? She wasn't sure what counted as one, so she couldn't rightly say, but guns, perhaps. She knew them like they were a part of her. She enjoyed the familiarity of every little part, the protectiveness of their weight and the cleanness of its bullets.

"And do you like using them?"

There was a slight edge in his voice that hadn't been there for the others, she could tell, and she answered carefully, "I'm not sure, sir. I never thought about it. I do practice often. They're very efficient."

"Is that so," Eifman said, slowly. He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful, before he said congenially, "Thank you, Miss Watase. That would be all."

Ruho was startled. "Pardon me, sir?"

"I was curious about you," He replied. "Quite a few people are, you know."

Ruho shifted her posture uncomfortably. "I, um, I didn't know, sir. But if I'm glad if I could be of help."

"You have," Eifman replied, politely. "Very much."

And then it dawned on her that Eifman had evaluated her. She didn't know why—not many people showed interest in her—but he had, and it, it disturbed her a little. There were things about her that he wasn't supposed to know, that nobody was supposed to know. They had told her to be secretive, and that's what she had been doing, as hard as she could. His questions had been harmless. Her answers had been harmless. Ruho looked down, her breath stilled, and then back up at him. "Did you—" Her voice trembling a little, and she forced it steady before saying, "Did you find what you were looking for, sir?"

Eifman's eyes met hers, and he gave one, small nod. "Good day, Miss Watase."

* * *

><p>Billy dug through his coat pocket for his card, but the door opened before he could find it, and Ruho stepped out of the lab and almost bumped into him. He moved aside before she did, and she blinked before lifting her head. "Hello, Mr. Katagiri."<p>

"You're still here?" He asked, and Ruho gave a shrug, her shoulders slumping limply. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes sir."

His eyes lingered on her face, but her expression was neutral as usual, nothing to be found there, so when she said "I'll be taking my leave, sir" he said "Yeah, sure," and Ruho bowed and left without another word. He watched her retreating back until she turned a corner before he walked into the lab. He found Eifman at his desk, working on his laptop as usual.

"Strange girl, that one," he said as Billy approached him.

Billy frowned. "Sir?"

"Lieutenant Aker would do well to keep an eye on her," Eifman said. "She won't be doing it for herself, of that I'm certain."

* * *

><p>"You seem awfully distracted."<p>

Ruho jerked out of her thoughts, startled. "Excuse me, Ma'am?"

Sarah watched her worriedly through the screen, but when Ruho met her eye, she smiled brightly. "Did something happen?"

"It's nothing, Ms. Kobayashi. I apologize for not paying attention."

"Distracted by your commanding officer, perhaps?" She said slyly, and Ruho looked at her, bewildered, until she added, "I saw a picture of him. He's gorgeous."

"I see," Ruho said. "Shall I pass your compliments to him, Ma'am?"

"I'm married, dear, remember?" Sarah told her, world-weary. "Then again, I suppose that doesn't stop some people. Anyway, it's time to send in your report. Can you get that to me by tomorrow?"

Ruho nodded, touching the side of her head with her hand. "Yes, Ma'am. And I apologize if I blinked too much."

"Nonsense. You never blink, sweetie. Frankly, I wonder how you do it," Sarah sighed, before saying, in a low voice, "One more thing. You've received your mission orders, right?" Ruho nodded, and she continued. "The current analgesics you're on are too strong for—I mean, they lower your reaction time by almost twelve percent. If it were mock fights like before, against a normal mobile suit, it wouldn't problem. But you know, it's, it's not. So," Her voice drifted away.

Ruho gaze faltered. "Then I—" She said, a little shaky. Her hand trailed to her stomach. "Then I have to stop taking them, Ma'am?"

"You'll have to use paracetamol," she said gently. "I know it's not as helpful, but the side effects won't be as sleep-inducing. In this case we really can't be too careful. You've seen the footage of those Gundams. Fighting half-delirious like you always do, it won't cut it."

Ruho looked away. "Yes, I understand, Ms. Kobayashi."

Sarah was quiet. "Are you sure you're alright?" She asked again.

Ruho didn't answer. Sarah didn't either, and after a minute, she smiled weakly, murmured a small 'good luck' and hung up.

Ruho sat there for minutes, not quite panicking, because she knew pain, and she knew what it was going to be like and there was no reason to dwell on it. But she wanted to brace herself. So she did, and once the tremor in her hand faded, she stood up and began to work.

The analgesics she took were powerful. Even with the machines, she needed a seventeen hour flush period for the substance to be completely removed from her bloodstream, so she hooked the dialyzer onto her arm and readied her bags and equipment and prepared her report as she waited.

They had insisted on monitoring her, so before she left Japan, they had installed a camera inside her left eye, easily unnoticeable. Ruho didn't mind it. So as Sarah asked, she reached into her digital files and withdrew the last two weeks' worth of video footage. She compressed it into a smaller file and sealed it with an encrypted password and sent it to both Russell and Sarah's emails with the week number and date labeled as its title.

After four hours of waiting, her hands were shaking again, for different reasons. Her vision was faltering. She could feel the effects of the drugs slip away from her body, and it was almost more tiring than painful. She tried to remember the last time she had slept, and couldn't.

So she slept.

* * *

><p>In the morning, Ruho woke up with a splitting headache and a pain in her stomach that felt like knives. Everything was harsh and bright and she couldn't breathe, <em>she couldn't breathe, <em>and she found herself rolling onto her side and gasping like she had swallowed shattered glass. It took her thirty-two seconds to calm down and focus, and when she did she closed her eyes and took slow shuddering breaths until the feeling dulled to a throb. She took a shot of anti-withdrawal medicine and three pills, even though these kinds didn't really work until six or seven, and went into the bathroom and rinsed off the cold sweat on her skin. The pain burned with the slightest movement, but once the headache receded, the world seemed clearer somehow. Sharper.

Her phone rang, and she waited for a few seconds, not trusting herself to speak steadily, before she answered. "Hello, Lieutenant?"

"We're departing in an hour," Graham's voice said. "You ready?"

"An hour, sir?" Ruho repeated, bewildered. She looked at the time and made an almost desperate sound.

"Ruho? What's wrong? You there?"

"That's—I, I mean," She hurried grabbed her jacket and overnight bag. "Yes sir, I'll—I'll be there momentarily." She pulled on her jacket, zipping it sloppily as she opened the door with her elbow. The background noise on the other end was loud, industrial. He was already at the hanger. When Ruho stumbled out of her quarters she pushed the wretched pain aside and began to run.

* * *

><p><strong>An:** I wonder if I should put a warning for substance abuse in the first chapter. Hope that doesn't turn anyone off, but it's going to be a bit of an issue later on. Anyhow, to answer most of the reviews (of which there were many, anon reviewers too, thank you all so much!), yes, Lockon has arrived! It only took four chapters too, which was not what I was expecting but it works. And he was so fun to write, so instead of a throwaway mention like I originally intended, I decided to give him some more dialogue in this chapter. It's completely aimless, but the entire story is pretty aimless, at least for season one, so why not. He'll show up later, because I only get half the story with him, might as well cram it in.

In other news, Graham is attempting to stay relevant in his own story, Ruho is confused for 99% of the chapter/her life/the whole story, and Professor Eifman gets a totally random psychoanalysis scene. Not that he was ever a major character, but I was very fond of him. The chapter was a little info-dumpy. But the next one is on Azadistan, where Ruho tries to be productive while half-dying.

Reviews are always appreciated. I hope you enjoyed!


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